One of the old women whom I talked with was of the wedding-party, and down there by the shore that night, and she told me that they all cheered and laughed for a minute as the boat with the lantern in her bows shot off from the land. The thought of danger, she said, was quite out of their minds. Right in front of them, less than a quarter of a mile away, they saw the lights of the houses in the Kesbeurt shining brightly, and plainly setting the course for Geert to steer; and they knew that the two strongest men on Marken were at the oars. What they all were laughing about, she said, was that anybody should be going from the one village to the other in a boat—and that it should be a wedding-journey, too!
But it was only for a moment that their laughter lasted. The instant that the boat was out of the sheltered smooth water they all knew that not by one chance in a thousand could she live to fetch across. By the light of the lantern fixed in her bows they saw plainly the wild tumult of the sea around her—that caught her and seemed to stand her almost straight on end as Geert held her strongly against the oncoming waves. The old woman said that a thrill of horror ran through them all as they realized what certainly must happen. By a common impulse down they all went on their knees on the sodden ground, with the rain pelting them—and she heard some one cry out in the darkness: "Old Jaap's curse is upon them! May God pity and help them and have mercy on their souls!"
OLD JAAP
XIII
Old Jan, who alone knew it, told me the rest of the story—but speaking slowly and unwillingly, as though it all still were fresh before him and very horribly real.
He said that when the boat lifted as that first sea struck her it was plain enough what was likely to happen to them—for they could not put about to make the shore again without swamping, and with such a sea running they were pretty certain to swamp quickly if they went on. But Krelis was not the sort to give in, and he shouted over his shoulder: "I've got you into a scrape, Jan; but if we can pull up under the lee of the graveyard there's a chance for us still." And then he called to Geert: "Now you can show what stuff you're made of, Geert. Steer for the graveyard—and for God's sake hold her straight to the sea!" As for Geert, she was as cool as the best man could have been, and she steered as well as any man could have steered. The light from the lantern shone full in her face, and old Jan said that her eyes kept on sparkling and that her colour never changed.
With that tremendous wind sweeping down on them, and with the waves butting against the boat, and throwing her head up every instant, even Jan and Krelis—and they were the best oarsmen on Marken—could make only snail's way. But it heartened them to find that they made any way at all—as they could tell that they were doing by seeing the lights ashore crawling past them—and so they lashed away with their oars and found a little hope growing again. Presently Krelis called out: "The water's getting smoother, Jan. Another fifty yards and we'll be all right!"
That was true. They were creeping up steadily under the lee of the graveyard, and the closer they got to it the more would it break the force of the waves. If they could reach it they would be safe.
Just as Krelis spoke, the boat struck against something so sharply that she quivered all over and lost way. Neither of the men dared to turn even for an instant; nor could their turning have done any good—all that they could do was to row on. But Geert could look ahead, and the lantern in the bows cast a little circle of light upon the furious sea. As she peered over their shoulders a strange look came into her face, Jan said, and then she spoke in a voice strained and strange: "It's a coffin," she said, "and I see another one a little farther on. The sea is washing away the graveyard—as it did that time long ago!" And then the coffin went past them, so close that it struck against and nearly unshipped Krelis's oar.